


Scientific Obfuscation

by Vrunka



Series: Kamski/Gavin AU [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Denial, Frottage, Incest, M/M, Reed and Kamski are brothers AU, there’s gotta be a shorter tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 06:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15746484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Gavin isn’t jealous. He just really doesn’t like his brother’s android fetish.





	Scientific Obfuscation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherishedsaulie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishedsaulie/gifts).



> Commission for Cherishedsaulie! Kamski/Reed hadn’t been something I had even thought about before and now I can’t get enough!!!

Gavin sits in the foyer, uncomfortable, sweating on the settee, his palms leaving a slick looking stain on the leather arms. He hates coming here. Hates the French vases and the sculptures and the fucking settees. Disgusting displays of opulence. Too much goddamn money.

He hates the painting of his own face taking up space on the far wall.

Or almost his face.

There’s little differences. Minute. Like looking at a mirror in a funhouse, something deeply off in the reflection.

Gavin swallows. Wipes a sweaty hand across his jaw, feeling the rough scratch of his stubble, the rasp of it against his skin. It keeps him from looking too much like his brother, adds a layer of uncertainty to the fact that they’re related at all. Using his mother’s maiden name also helps.

“Elijah will see you now,” the android informs him from the door. Hands folded in front of it. Skinny thighs. Bony knees. Gavin wonders if his brother is fucking them, the Chloes that wander around his home, part secretary, part maid, part groupie.

Gavin hates himself for wondering. For picturing, however briefly, himself in Elijah’s place, surrounded by perfect, plastic women. All the same, all blonde, all wanting him desperately. And then, worse, he thinks of just Elijah.

He stops the thoughts there.

Kills them.

Mentally stomps them until they are nothing more than twitching soupy mass at the base of his brain.

Gavin stands. Stalks past the painting of his doppelgänger, past the android and its flawless posture. It smells like cologne, a masculine, spicy scent. Gavin swallows that detail down. Throws it on the pile of things he cannot bear to look too deeply at.

Elijah, god damn him, is waiting. Sitting in a plush arm chair like he doesn’t have a care in the fucking world. One leg crossed over the other, ankle hooked across knee. Wrinkles in the expensive material, an imperfection of the knife-sharp pleating. A glass of wine, blood, blood red, which Elijah is swirling, tipping this way and that.

He smiles when he sees Gavin.

His lips are stained that same red, red.

“Brother.”

At least he’s long dispensed with attempted hugs in these greetings, though there is still warmth in his tone. A fondness Gavin himself will never quite understand. They’re only family.

Only family.

Gavin digs his fingernails into his palm. “Elijah.” It’s icier than he truly intends. Stiff and formal. Uncomfortable. Gavin is aware once more of the sweat under his chin, prickling under his arms and along his spine. Pin-pricks of sticky moisture.

He can only hope that Elijah does not notice, but then of course, Elijah notices everything.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Their problem. Gavin’s.

“You’re looking a little edgy there, dear brother,” Elijah says. His eyes narrow. “Nervous, one might even say.” He licks his lips and the thoughts Gavin had thought so nicely liquified twitch ever so slightly back to life. Solidifying.

“You’re not here to ask for money again, are you,” Elijah continues. The wine moves in a hypnotic red wave, from one side of the glass to the other.

“Fuck off.”

Elijah laughs. Smiles again. Toothy this time, perfect and evenly white. Gavin remembers the braces, the years of retainers afterward. Elijah still probably wears his fucking Invisalign. Gavin lost his own retainer a day and a half after getting it.

“I’m kidding,” Elijah offers. “Maybe you just missed me.”

Gavin’s fingers tighten into fists again. Compulsory. It takes concentration to loosen his grip, he has to focus on it, flattening his hand, touching his badge. Grounding. “I’m here on business,” he says. “Your...toys have been—“

“Business,” Elijah says, raising his voice just slightly, “of course. Social visits never were your modus operandi. Still though, you can sit, at least pretend to remember acceptable etiquette. Mother would be disappointed.”

It’s a sore spot and Elijah knows just what he’s doing picking at it. He steamrolls on before Gavin can get a word in edgewise.

“In both of us. Where are my manners? Chloe! A drink for my brother, we have a nice white down in the basement I believe.”

“I don’t want a drink, Elijah.”

“No? You look like you need one. No offense of course, but you look like shit.”

Gavin bristles at that. Offended despite the offhanded suggestion not to be, because of it.

“Well your androids certainly aren’t helping,” Gavin says. He crosses his arms. “They sent one to the department. Some bullshit about negotiations, hunting for deviants. Its going to far, it’s gone too fucking far.”

“Is that what this is about? CyberLife makes a decision to make android cops, you start fretting about your job and come running to me to save you. Are we ten years old all over again? Need my protection from those CyberLife bullies.”

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

Elijah tisks, tongue clicking against his teeth. The pink flash of it.

“I haven’t worked for CyberLife for years. What they get up to now is hardly my concern. Really, Gavin, coming here with such,” he pauses, searching for the word. Tongue lodged at the corner of his lip.

Gavin stares at it.

He can’t help himself.

When they were younger, high school, college; Gavin had written such distractions off as jealousy. He’s older now. He knows better.

And he hates it.

He hates a lot of things.

“What I’m saying is you can come and see me any time. My door is open.” Elijah’s leg lowers, both feet flat on the ground. He’s wearing dark socks. Such a contrast to the carpet. “For you, my door is always open.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Okay then.” The wine glass is lifted, tipped. The liquid sloshes, Gavin can imagine it against Elijah’s lips, watches his throat work. Watches his brother swallow. Wipe a hand across his mouth. “CyberLife barely even asks for my input these days. I can’t help you.”

“You were the damn CEO. You fucking programmed the things. There wouldn’t be a CyberLife without you.”

And oh, oh how Gavin wishes there weren’t a CyberLife. How he wishes. 

“Was the CEO. The past tense is the important part. Funny how selling my shares to the company really changed their tune when it came to following my directives.”

He holds his empty glass out, a Chloe reaches around Gavin’s shoulder and takes it. Wearing the same dress as the one who ushered him in here but it’s impossible to tell for sure if it is actually the same one or not. The same same face, they are all goddamn identical. Fucking creepy.

It disappears as soundlessly as it had materialized. Gavin watches it go, the hem of the skirt flipping upward teasingly with every step. Is Elijah fucking them? Elijah must be fucking them.

“Beautiful right,” he says when Gavin looks back over to him. “Just flawless.”

“It’s creepy. Disgusting.”

Elijah grins. He is fucking them. Or watching them fuck. Gavin feels his lip raise, the hairs on his arm standing on end. Elijah would justify it in terms of science, mitosis of some sort, like a splitting nuclei.

Or at least that’s how he had said it when Gavin caught him balls deep in one of his early prototypes.

They had discussed it at length—to Gavin’s horror—and Elijah had dropped a lot of technical jargon. Word of the day science-ese. Excuses and excuses. They did not discuss the fact that the robot he had been screwing looked like the two of them; dark-haired and square-jawed and definitely, definitively masculine.

Maybe Elijah is thinking of the same thing. His smile goes sheepish, he leans back in the chair. “You don’t have to look so scandalized,” he says. “Do they really make you so uncomfortable?”

“I hate them.”

“They’re my life’s work.”

Gavin shakes his head. “I hate them,” he says again. “They’re awful. They’re...”

“Limitless.”

There’s something about the way Elijah says it. That dipping tone. Innuendo behind layers and layers of innocuous science speak. Hidden under the wonders of discovery.

Gavin looks away. Frowning. He stares down at the carpet. At Elijah’s socked feet. “You are fucking them, then.”

Elijah laughs. It catches in his nose, ugly, snorting in a way that is completely unselfconscious. Truthful, nothing put upon between them at all for once. “God. Is that what you’re worried about? Jesus, Gav.”

An old nickname. One he hasn’t heard or used since middle school maybe. Longer even. Since he started feeling that creeping, sinking white-hot tightness whenever he looked at Elijah.

“Don’t...”

“Don’t what?”

“I don’t really want to know about it. I just came here to...”

To what? The answers run thinner and thinner every time. Threadbare to begin with, more holes than plot to them. A complaint about this or about that.

Something about shattering moments. The cell splitting, sister nucleotides and identical makeup and god, God, god Gavin had wanted it to be him. In that moment watching his brother’s hips hitch, torn from his rhythm with his surprise; Gavin had wanted nothing more than to—

“I should go.”

“You always run away. You’re not a coward like that, Gav. Just fucking talk to me.”

Gavin bites his lip. Elijah hasn’t moved from the chair. Still sitting. Fingers digging into the arm of it.

Darkening little stains from his sweat.

Because they aren’t, and never have been, all that different. Gavin’s toes curl in his shoes, his arches ache with the pressure.

A Chloe appears at the doorway the other had left through. Holding a tray. A bottle of white wine and two glasses, already full. Gavin grabs both before she has even fully crossed the room. He drinks them down, one, then the other. Swallowing too quickly for the vintage.

The alcohol, the heady, bubbling rush of it, lasts only a second.

“You can leave the tray, Chloe,” Elijah says.

“You can drink with him. I’m leaving,” Gavin says back. Not even sparing the android another glance. Glaring at his brother.

“Drinking and driving isn’t a good look for a cop.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job.”

“You’re so worried about being replaced that—“

“I’m not going to be fucking replaced by a machine.” Gavin hisses. And then before he can stop himself he says. “Not again.”

There. There it is. Talking about it.

Elijah’s eyebrows do that thing Gavin recognizes from his own habits. One arching, one rising. A question in the quirk of them. A question that Gavin has the answer to but cannot bring himself to say. Has never been able to face, not fully.

They move at the same second. Gavin turns on his heel as Elijah stands. Elijah’s fingers catch around his wrist and Gavin’s retreat is effectively halted.

“What are you talking about?” Elijah says.

“Nothing. Leave it. I’m going.”

“Gavin...”

“Just stop talking.”

“No. I’m not-not replacing you. You’re my family. The Chloes are...machines. Useful, beautiful machines, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

It’s not.

“It’s not the,” Gavin trails off. He tugs uselessly at his arm. Elijah’s slightly slick grip. His fingers so tight and so sure.

They’re both sweating. Nervous.

Gavin swallows. “They aren’t the problem, Elijah.”

“Then what is?”

“You’re supposed to be this big genius, aren’t you? Why don’t you figure it out?”

“Gav...”

“Let me go, Elijah.”

Gavin struggles again, uselessly, trapped. A fucking cop and he can’t even strong-arm his way out of his nerdy brother’s grip. Too evenly matched.

So Gavin does the next best thing.

He steps closer, hoping to throw Elijah’s balance. Their knees bump against each other. Gavin’s fingers colliding with Elijah’s chest, curling in his shirt. Not the plan, not the plan, not exactly. A clean deviation, what Gavin wants and what he wants. Emphasis where it doesn’t belong.

He isn’t allowed to want this.

Elijah is watching his face. Lip caught between his teeth. One socked foot, curled over top of Gavin’s for balance. A steady weight.

There’s a science to the way they are tangled together. A bunch of metaphors for their lives up to this very goddamn point. And they could talk about it, they could, but Gavin pushes closer instead. 

He’s always been more about action than talking anyway. It’s the big difference between the two of them. The theoretical and the doer.

Elijah has time to take a breath, Gavin can see the way his throat moves over it, the unconscious bobbing of his Adam’s apple. Gavin feels the breath stutter out against his own lips and they’re kissing.

More accurately, Gavin is kissing Elijah. Kissing his fucking brother. Pressing his lips chaste and firm to Elijah’s mouth. That hand on Elijah’s chest not just bracing but pushing, dragging the fabric into his grip to angle the two of them together better.

Something clicks. Hazy. Elijah’s lips open beneath Gavin’s insistence and Gavin can taste the heady red he’d been drinking when Gavin arrived. Thicker than the white Gavin had pounded, oaky, deeper.

Jarring.

Gavin breaks the kiss off and Elijah groans. His fingers have found their way to Gavin’s shoulders, holding tight, white-knuckled. Along for the ride. They’re the same height; Elijah seeking Gavin’s mouth out again seems like the easiest motion in the world.

But Gavin cranes his neck back instead. Avoids the contact. Squeezes his eyes shut until the image of his brother’s kiss-reddened lips fades to stark blackness.

“What the fuck are you doing,” he says. Hypocritical because he was the one doing the kissing, starting the shit. Unable to let the sleeping dog of it fucking lie.

Elijah frowns.

“I may be the genius but you’re no idiot, Gav. I didn’t think you—that you would-would ever—you don’t know how long I’ve wanted that.”

Gavin’s fingers clench where they have fallen to holding Elijah’s hip. Squeeze and squeeze into the muscle, hard enough he can feel the press of bone beneath.

“You could have built one that looked like me. More like me. You could have had this whenever you wanted it,” Gavin says. He means it to sound angry, defiant, but it comes out softer, just a little too shattered.

Elijah’s eyes narrow. “I’m not replacing you,” he says again. “God damn it, I thought we had talked about this.”

Other than the horror of discussing the fact he walked in on his brother violating a machine, there are very few other details about that conversation that Gavin actively remembers. He remembers the android behind them, hanging useless, it’s purpose served, wires like guts torn from the open port in its belly. Flaccid little dildo dick hanging from the apex of its thighs. He remembers Elijah’s face, dusted pink with his blush. Remembers Elijah’s mouth forming the words: “It isn’t a big deal, okay?”

“Did you make it look like me on purpose?” Gavin asks, now, here, with his brother’s hands still holding his shoulders. “Back then when I...it looked like me. Like us. That was...”

Elijah swallows. “Seemed less perverted at the time. You never brought it up, I thought you were embarrassed. Ashamed of me.”

Gavin turns that confession over in his mind. His hostility and coldness misread all these years as Elijah’s problem, rather than Gavin’s jealousy. 

And it is jealousy, as much as the word rankles and prickles and baits. It’s fucking jealousy. That an android can have what Gavin has denied himself for the sake of decency.

He should apologize, he can feel that much. Should say he’s sorry for the way he has acted, has been.

Gavin does not apologize.

Instead he pulls Elijah closer again.

The kiss is more heated this second time. Sloppy in a way Gavin would never have associated with Elijah. Put together, rich, snobby Elijah. The genius. Licking his way into his brother’s mouth, all enthusiasm and drool.

It’s rather disgusting.

And thrilling.

Elijah walks the two of them back, drops his weight so the two of them collapse back down into the chair he had vacated. Gavin on top, thighs spreading around Elijah’s waist. It’s not a comfortable fit, the expensive leather creaks under their weight. Gavin’s knees jammed into the arms of the chair.

But god, fucking god he can’t bring himself to care.

It’s like a damn breaking, crumbling; Gavin has one hand fisted for anchorage in Elijah’s hair while the rest of his self gets washed away in the flood of it. Eroded to nothing but the intense feeling of Elijah’s mouth against his own, the tickle of Elijah’s stylishly shorn hair against his palm.

Elijah’s cock, trapped in his pleated pants, rutting up against Gavin’s own. The stiff material of his jeans too tight across his crotch.

Mitosis, clean division. Identical in so many ways.

Gavin’s hands aren’t shaking as he fishes Elijah’s cock out. He’s a little bit amazed in the steadiness. Pulse beating overtime, so hard it’s a wonder he can’t see the flinching in his wrist.

Elijah makes a desperate noise as Gavin touches him; grip so steady and firm, like this is routine, like it means nothing. Elijah gasps and groans and he says Gavin’s name.

“Gav,” he says. “Oh fuck, Gavin.” It’s ineloquent, garbled and pleading. Gavin’s fingers move quicker and the chorus of it—“Gavin, please, Gav, God”—speeds up.

A machine could not give Elijah this.

Gavin is giving him this.

The warm weight of the revelation settles in Gavin’s gut. Curls there right along with his twitching arousal. Gavin grabs a handful of his brother’s stupid undercut again, forces their mouths together, swallowing his name as it spills from Elijah’s lips.

The push and shove of their cocks together is too slippery. Gavin leaking all over them both; Elijah’s precome mingling with his own, grossly obscene and shiny, shiny. Gavin grunts, huffs a breath into Elijah’s mouth as he stares down at them rutting together, too entranced by it to keep up the kiss, simply breathing in the indecency of it.

Both of them worked up too quickly.

The edge of it rushing toward them headlong. Because they’ve never been all that different. Gavin’s palm is sweating against Elijah’s scalp. Elijah’s palm is sweating against Gavin’s jean-clad thighs. They’re both done in in the space of ten fucking minutes time.

But Elijah comes first.

At least Gavin has that thread to hold onto.

Elijah’s head tips back, his throat working over another thick slur of Gavin’s name. The chair groans at the violence of his sudden shaking, breaking through orgasm like a spasm, twitching and thrusting and coming apart at the very seams.

“Oh fuck,” Gavin says, blinking down at the mess. “Oh fuck, Eli—“

And then he’s coming too. Ruining Elijah’s button down and his own fucking jeans. Covering the two of them. Orgasm whites out everything, fills his head with roaring, endless static. Gavin isn’t sure how long it takes him to fight back to the surface of his being, but when he blinks back, Elijah’s hands are petting his sides. His jacket has been pushed off, goosebumps prickle down his now uncovered arms. Elijah smooths his fingers down those as well, tracing the shivering skin.

“You okay?” Elijah asks.

“‘M fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Elijah breathes against him. His chest moving under his shirt. Popped a few more buttons, it hangs open further than it had been. Gavin touches the rumpled fabric, curls the edge of it between his fingers.

“Do you want...” Elijah starts to say. Stops saying. He’s blushing. It’s weird. Cute in a way Gavin really isn’t comfortable analyzing. “Do you want to come to bed with me?” Elijah asks. Voice quiet and fragile.

There’s no science to hide behind here. No more excuses with a pretty veneer of technical jibber jabber.

This is the two of them. As raw and honest as they’ve ever been with one another.

Gavin closes his eyes. The lower part of his stomach and right above his cock is a mess, sticky, residual grossness. He swallows. “Yeah,” he says. “I want to.”

They stand. Gavin’s muscles sing at the relief, able to finally loosen from the uncomfortable position they had been holding. The chair seems to sigh beneath them, unburdened of their weight. Lasting impressions of Gavin’s knees in the leather, Gavin wonders idly how long that will last.

He turns away, grinning to himself.

The Chloe has not moved. It stands motionless where it had been when Gavin had taken the wine from it. The tray still balanced across its palm. The pretty, feminine face is shuttered, mostly emotionless. Those goddamn doe eyes meet Gavin’s, and he doesn’t have to wonder how much it saw. Watched the whole fucking thing.

“Fucking creepy,” Gavin says. Mostly to himself.

Elijah’s elbow brushes his hip. His hair is mussed, absolutely fucked. He looks like sin. Like sex. “Maybe a little,” he agrees.

Because they’ve never been all that different.

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my tumblr as always if you wanna discuss anything fandom related or just check out what I’m up to!!


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